Changed
by Demented Inu
Summary: The war changed everything. Changed them. How can they survive knowing that? Harry/Ron.


"Dad, can I grow out my hair, like Uncle Bill's?"

Hugo blinked at him from across the table hopefully. Ron glanced at him from over the Prophet.

"Ask your mother. And eat your cereal, it's getting soggy."

"Mummy's not here, Daddy. 'Member?" Rose reminded him, fiddling with her hair. "She had to go on a work trip."

Ron sighed, already beginning to feel the beginnings of a headache. It was only ten-thirty. "Then you can ask her when she gets home, Hugo."

"Daddy, can I have a kitten?"

"No, Rose. We talked about this."

"But... but Hugo got an owl!" Rose stuck out her lower lip.

"That's because I'm Dad's favorite," Hugo said proudly, earning him a smack on the head with his father's paper. "ouch!"

"No, I gave you Pig because you seemed ready to handle taking care of him. Rosie, I'll get you an owl for your birth--"

"But I don't want an owl! I want a cat, like Mummy has! Can't I have her cat, Daddy?"

"Mummy's had that cat a long time, sweetie. He's very old, and--"

"But Pig is old too! Why can't I--"

But her complaint was interrupted by a knock on the door, tapping out "Shave and a Haircut". Already knowing who it was, Ron stood up and went to go answer the door.

He wasn't surprised to see Harry dropping by. Harry always showed up at some point during the weekend, and they had a beer and they had a laugh and then Harry would go home to his wife and children, leaving unspoken questions between them.

"Hey, Ron." His tone was different this time, making Ron look at him funny. Harry stepped into the house without invitation, soon followed by his three children, Ron's niece and nephews, each hugging him quickly before running to find their cousins. "Sorry I'm so early."

"Not at all." Ron took Harry's coat and hung it on the coat hook, still dripping from the rain drizzling outside. For a moment, Ron worried about the children, until remembering that Hermione had told him that rain doesn't cause illness. Noises of the children playing ran in the background as the two men--best friends since age eleven--looked at one another in an awkward silence.

"Ginny went to the store," Harry said at last. "You know how easily distracted she is. I have a few hours."

"Hermione's on a work trip, a conference or something. She'll be gone until Wednesday." He paused, waiting for Harry to say something, and when he didn't, Ron added, "Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

Harry looked down at the carpet and then back into Ron's eyes. They both looked older, more adult, but more than just their ages changed. Harry now had lines in his face that weren't there when they were at school, and that look of pure innocence had long gone. Ron himself felt old, his freckles fewer in number and crinkles around his eyes from all his childhood laughter. There was no time for laughter now, now when Harry was looking so determined, so anxious.

"Actually, Ron, I think we need to talk."

Ron sighed wearily. He had known this was coming, but that didn't make it any easier to accept. He had known deep down that Harry would never be able to let go, never be able to forgive himself, never be able to forget what had happened that night. Ron flopped down on the sofa angrily, a little harder than he'd intended, and then he threw his arms up in mock surrender.

"What do you want from me?" he asked. "Huh? I can't change the past, Harry, I can't change what happened. Neither can you."

Harry sat down calmly on the chair across from Ron. "I... I know it won't change, Ron, but... but what if Ginny--?"

"What? What if Ginny found out?" Ron didn't know why he was getting so upset. Something between them sparked as Ron kept on, something that Ron had thought was the past resurfacing. "Ginny won't find out unless you tell her. And if you want to, go ahead, I won't stop you. Hopefully she'll divorce you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I means you're unhappy with her." The truth poured from him before he could stop it coming, and when he did try, it was too late. Harry looked at him in shock. "You're unhappy. You wanted a perfect life. You wanted a perfect life with a perfect family and a perfect house with perfect little blue shutters. But you're not perfect, nobody is, and your life is miserable because you try so hard to be perfect."

"You're not happy either!" Harry nearly shouted, but remained quiet because of the children. "You're just as miserable as I am!"

"I," said Ron, "never claimed to be happy."

Harry looked away, focusing on the clock.

"I know you're upset." Ron blinked sadly, exhausted. Maybe that, too, was due to age. "It was just a shag, all right? We were both drunk, it doesn't--"

"Doesn't count?" Harry finished. "Doesn't matter?" He closed his eyes. "Well, it mattered to me, okay?"

"Harry--"

"No. You need to hear this."

Ron closed his mouth, frustrated and curious.

"You don't understand. Ever since I met you on that train, you have been the whole of my life. I worried about you every minute of the day, thought about you, fought with you. I still do. You make every day worth living, okay? It was hard enough for me to go on those few weeks after you left, and I don't want to think about trying to live with you... with you dead."

"I--"

"I know that you think it doesn't matter, what we did. But it matters to me. How couldn't it matter, when I had finally gotten what I really needed to be truly happy?"

The last sentence had come in a soft whisper, and it dangled between them on an invisible string, teasing them, taunting them. Ron wanted to take it back, wanted to rip it apart, wanted to erase it from their memories, and at the same time, he wanted to cherish it. He wanted it to happen again.

It was a sudden movement, sudden and unexpected, but Ron reached out and took a handful of Harry's dark hair and pulled them close so that their mouths pressed together like they had so many weeks ago. It had been such a long time, so long since they had last done anything like this... The distant memory of being sixteen came to him, of Harry's neck against his mouth, of the feel of Harry's hot skin beneath his fingertips.

They crushed together harder, teeth clacking together painfully, but they didn't stop. How could they? Ron had missed this so much, had missed it when Hermione jumped him in the Room of Requirement, had missed it when he'd offered her the ring, had missed it when he was at the alter, reciting vows. Why hadn't he thought about it first, before going on his instinct? Every freckle was now crying out to be touched by the skin he'd missed so much, every memory coming to life before him, erasing the changes, and he was sixteen again for that glorious moment.

They broke apart when they'd heard a door slam shut, and their eyes said it all: the desire, the passion, the utter devotion unto death for one another.

The wish that maybe, if Ron had acted differently, he could've had a different future.

When Harry was in the doorway again, looking like nothing had happened, Ron leaned forward to hug him in a close embrace. The children were oblivious to this, bickering in the background on the lawn, and the rain came, claiming the men as its own.

"Never again," Harry whispered into his ear, a low tone that made shivers run down his spine.

"I know."

And then he watched as they left, and he felt the tug of a small hand on his sleeve.

And he wished, more than anything, that he had acted differently.

He wished, more than anything, that he could change the past.


End file.
